Revision
by Soopremo
Summary: It's during the day when Kyungsoo wakes up to reality and realizes—remembers—that Jongin is gone.
1. Part One

"I had fun recalling things," Luhan says as soon as he and Kyungsoo step out of the dingy diner. The sky above them is gray, sunlight arrested in between the sheets of clouds that had seemingly formed during the time they were inside, but they don't rush. The chance to talk with an old friend and rekindle things of the past doesn't come often, after all. Luhan turns to face the other and smiles. "I'm glad I bumped into you."

Kyungsoo tries to smile back. He manages a small quirk of the lips. "I'm... glad too."

"Well, take care." Luhan nods and turns around, and they separate ways.

The first droplets of the rain land gently on his hair—too gentle that Kyungsoo only becomes aware of the drizzle after a stray droplet lightly grazes the skin of his forehead. Rain showers always start off slowly, like an artist who's hesitantly painting the canvas with blotches of a darker shade before going all-out and drenching it with buckets of paint. Kyungsoo takes refuge in a nearby waiting shed. The rain is yet to pour, but his cheeks are already wet. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his cheeks dry and realizes that they're not wet from the rain when his vision blurs and a tear makes its way down his left cheek.

Kyungsoo blames Luhan for mentioning a name he had tried so hard to forget and for failing to hide the pity in his voice when he said,_ "I heard about you and Jongin."_

* * *

><p>His hands tremble as he pours the last contents of the bottle. A single pill lands on his palm and he quickly brings it to his mouth before forcing it down his throat.<p>

The pill makes its way down his esophagus slowly, scraping against walls of tissue without the aid of anything liquid. Kyungsoo winces at the pain, putting a hand over his neck and obliviously digging nails onto his skin, but he doesn't drink water. He chooses to feel the pain—to feel the pill inside his mouth—because it's not like the feeling is foreign. Sleeping pills had always been his friend. They let him feel at ease, able to rest, able to forget about things that keep him up during the night; they let him forget about Jongin.

Kyungsoo shuts the door and immediately catches the worn-out pair of leather shoes lined up beside the ones he owns—an eyesore among his Louis Vuittons. All the lights are on and there's a low buzzing coming from the television in his living room.

He goes straight to the kitchen, counts the number of edibles inside the fridge, and sighs. Luckily, there's still enough for a decent meal. He asks, hoping that he could be heard, "Same old?"

Nobody answers.

The television is turned off by the time Kyungsoo has set the table for two and had neatly placed a flower vase as a complimentary centerpiece.

"Do I smell spaghetti?" comes Jongin's voice, echoing clearly from the living room.

Kyungsoo acts normal when he hears Jongin's footsteps enter the kitchen. He doesn't face him. "How did you get it in?"

"You never change your lock."

Kyungsoo doesn't need to look back to confirm that he is being grinned at.

Jongin is by the kitchen's entrance, body hunched against the doorway with a hand scratching his tummy and the other propping himself up on the counter, as if he's using it to support himself from the shock of meeting Kyungsoo for the first time in months.

That's what Kyungsoo likes to think, but then Jongin retracts his hand and uses it to pull a chair he could sit on. Kyungsoo is then reminded that he has always had the knack for being wrong in many ways than he should, especially when it involved Jongin.

He clears his throat and takes the seat across Jongin. "Remind me to change it soon."

"Okay," Jongin pauses before looking up at him, lips forming into a lopsided smirk. "waiting by the doorstep is fine with me."

Kyungsoo nods. "It had always been."

* * *

><p>The first time Kyungsoo found Jongin at his doorstep was after Jongin first disappeared, thinking he and Kyungsoo wouldn't work out.<p>

Kyungsoo was left wondering where Jongin had gone and when he would be coming back, and it stayed like that for weeks until Jongin showed up at his doorstep on a Saturday with a bag of Popsicles and a sorry smile. Kyungsoo had let him in, saying, "_Let's eat those before they all melt_."

The second time Jongin left was when Kyungsoo's mom told him that her son would be better off with a wife and a family of his own than with a confused teenager who knew nothing but to run away.

Kyungsoo held Jongin's hand tightly at that; he stood for them when Jongin didn't— Jongin who ran away with nothing but an unsteady job, a beaten-up duffel bag, a pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of energy drink he hoped would get him through a week or two. It was on a weekend when Kyungsoo opened the door just before Jongin could knock.

The last time Jongin left was days, weeks, months ago—Kyungsoo hates counting, but it was when Jongin was _sure_ they wouldn't work out. Kyungsoo spent cold nights at a convenience store, tracing the raindrops in his usual seat by the glass wall, and rainy ones crammed up inside a phone booth, relentlessly redialing Jongin's number which had been ingrained deep in his fingers. Still, Jongin didn't come back, and he believed that it was the end for the both of them.

But now they're sitting close together, knees bumping and shoulders touching. Jongin insisted that they eat at the living room and Kyungsoo said: "Okay." even though he's afraid that Jongin might spill Kimchi sauce on his newly-washed carpet.

Jongin eats with great familiarity, chewing slowly as if he was relishing each bite, as they watch a recorded episode of their once favorite cartoon; the one about a violent coyote and a blue road runner. Kyungsoo finds himself staring at Jongin instead of the cartoon episode he has watched for countless times, more than enough for him to be tired with it. And Jongin still looks the same, except from the dark circles under his eyes and the subtle dip of his cheekbones, the slightest hint of exhaustion. It makes him look like he hasn't eaten for days.

"It's still my favorite show," Jongin says in between chewing and placing his plate on the coffee table.

Kyungsoo looks away and laughs awkwardly in response, a little forced, too out of the blue, "Same."

Jongin doesn't finish his dinner, and Kyungsoo concludes that he can't expect Jongin to like the same thing forever. He should have asked Jongin what he wanted to eat.

* * *

><p>It's a quarter till midnight when Kyungsoo excuses himself to his bedroom with a bottle of brandy and a packet of sedatives in hand.<p>

Jongin follows him.

He lies down on his spot on Kyungsoo's bed and silently counts the sharp ridges of Kyungsoo's spine, traveling a finger down the older's clothed back. Kyungsoo's breathing is deep and heavy against his fingers; it's as if every breath that escapes his lungs ends up as a sigh.

Kyungsoo tries to empty the bottle of brandy as fast as he can and he deliberately abandons the sleeping pills when Jongin's hand stops on his lower back.

"Hyung," Jongin says, tugging on the belt loops of Kyungsoo's slacks. He lays Kyungsoo down and places a knee on each side of the latter's waist when he doesn't receive an answer, but Kyungsoo still doesn't flinch, just looks up at him and blinks with his lips parted. And Jongin thinks Kyungsoo looks beautiful like this, fringe covering the slightest hint of tears in his eyes. He leans over and breathes, the tip of his nose nuzzling Kyungsoo's cheek, "I missed you. Did you miss me?"

Kyungsoo shudders when Jongin's breath dances on his cheek, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he looks up and their eyes meet. And, suddenly, the thought that maybe there's still a way to stitch up the gap that's continuously growing between them hits him too hard—that maybe Jongin came back because he wanted to set things right between the two of them again, just like how he did in the times he came back from running away; to open and heal aged scabs. Without thinking, Kyungsoo presses his lips against Jongin's in an experimental chaste kiss, cupping Jongin's face and pulling him down so his lips could reach up to his chin, his nose, his forehead because _God, I missed you too, Jongin._

At that Jongin grabs hold of Kyungsoo's hands and pins them down on the bed. He starts kissing Kyungsoo back aggressively, almost as if there was a burning need to taste Kyungsoo's lips and a moan escapes from his mouth when Kyungsoo willingly opens his lips, allowing his probing tongue to enter.

They don't waste time and start ridding each other of clothing. Jongin succeeds in loosening Kyungsoo's tie and unbuttoning Kyungsoo's shirt. Kyungsoo is already breathing heavily by the time Jongin parts the kiss for air and starts trailing his lips from his plump ones down to his jaw, to his neck, and to the expanse of his bare shoulder, making sure to leave marks on the sensitive spots.

Kyungsoo rasps when he feels Jongin's teeth somewhere on his neck, "J-Jongin don—" but his breathing hitches and he's unable to continue what he wants to say when he feels Jongin's crotch rub against his own, the friction between the rough material of their pants making his head dizzy with want. He tugs on Jongin's belt and—

Then, the phone in his pocket rings—it reels Kyungsoo back from the crazed tension between him and Jongin. Realization dawns on him, and he remembers that he's not supposed to be doing any of this. At least, not with Jongin. He gently pushes Jongin away. "Jongin—"

Kyungsoo lets out a strangled moan when a hand ghosts above the growing tent in his pants. He pushes Jongin away harder this time, stuttering, "S-Stop."

As soon as Jongin reels back, Kyungsoo shrugs his shirt on, sits up, and fishes the phone out of his pocket. "I... I have to take this," he says, before getting off of the bed and walking into the veranda.

The cold city breeze brushes against his bare skin and he winces when he breathes in a faint hint of Jongin's perfume. He makes a mental note to wash it off with a warm shower later.

When Kyungsoo comes back inside, Jongin is sitting on the edge of his bed, already fully dressed and nonchalant. He's looking at the picture frame on his bedside table.

"I think you should probably go—"

"Who's this?" Jongin asks as if it was their first conversation for the night as he points at the person Kyungsoo was with in the photo.

"That—she's... going to visit me tonight," Kyungsoo says and he doesn't know why he sounded so hesitant.

Jongin goes silent. He puts the photo frame back on top of Kyungsoo's bedside table and just stares at it.

Kyungsoo eventually leads him to the main door. They don't talk. They don't say good bye, but something inside Kyungsoo's conscience snaps when he sees Jongin tug on his worn-out pair of shoes.

He opts for an excuse, "It was just the brandy, Jongin." But it only messes him up more when he recalls that the bottle wasn't even half-full.

"Sure." Jongin smiles at him before casually stepping out of the doorway. He turns to look at Kyungsoo.

Their gazes lock, and Kyungsoo fights the need to grab Jongin by the collar of his shirt and punch him words that will make him stop and stay because this certainly feels like one of those moments before Jongin disappears again, but he doesn't. He has no right to. It's not like they're in a relationship anyway.

"When can I see you again?" Jongin asks, shoving both hands into his pockets.

"You've never asked me that before—but I'm free on Sundays."

Jongin only chuckles a bit before leaving, "You're doing good, Hyung."

He doesn't slam the door.

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo wakes up and the digital clock on his bedside is blinking twenty-two. His head is throbbing.<p>

There's a knock on the door and he quickly walks towards the entrance. He doesn't miss the unfamiliar divide between his shoes Jongin's worn-out pair used to fill.

Kyungsoo opens the door and sees her. "Hi," A kiss on his cheek. "Are you okay? You look like you've slept too much."

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo gets off the cab a few blocks away from his office and starts walking. The day is just about to start for him and he finds it fitting to begin with a short walk beneath the trees and the lamp posts on the sidewalk towards his office. It's still mid-October but the wind is already blowing cold, occasionally drawing in leaves from trees which fall and taint the pavement brown.<p>

"Is my Rolex broken or are you really running late?" a voice greets him from behind.

He turns to see Baekhyun fiddling with his wrist watch with a confused look on his face, one good enough to please any high school drama club. "That watch of yours looks too heavy. I'm surprised your little wrist, not to mention your salary, can carry it," he says before turning his head back to the ground and speeding his pace up because Baekhyun's watch isn't broken. He _is_ running late.

"Hey, just to remind you, we're business partners. _We_ kind of have the same salary."

"That still doesn't change the fact that I could fire you right now," Kyungsoo quips before turning the corner.

Baekhyun catches up to him until they're walking side by side. "You won't, though."

Not wanting to know if what Baekhyun said is true or not, Kyungsoo chooses to ignore him—just like how he always does when Baekhyun decides to say something that involves his self-proclaimed deep understanding of 'Do Kyungsoo's personality'—but it's not because he thinks Baekhyun is wrong. He's just afraid that if he says more, Baekhyun might use his words against him.

"Oh. I see a valid reason for you to be late," Baekhyun teases, placing a finger on top of the distracting red mark on Kyungsoo's neck.

Kyungsoo slaps Baekhyun's hand away and tries to cover the blossoming tinge of pink across his cheeks before they reach the company's entrance.

The wind bites his skin as he enters the glass doors; it's as if he's walking through an airlock. His scarf suddenly feels too tight around his neck and he readjusts it to cover the marks on his skin when Baekhyun turns to greet Chanyeol, the company's teeth-rich receptionist. Kyungsoo remembers almost firing said guy for creeping out a couple of prospective investors, if only Baekhyun hadn't said that he'd take care of it himself. But Kyungsoo is nonetheless satisfied with how Chanyeol had started to smile less after Baekhyun's visit.

"Are they from those _luscious_ red lips?" Baekhyun asks after dismissing Chanyeol with a hand gesture Kyungsoo thinks holds more meaning than a simple 'see you later'.

"No. I... ended it with her yesterday."

Baekhyun stops in his tracks and widens his eyes towards Kyungsoo who continues to walk towards his own work area. "What?"

He quickly grabs hold of Kyungsoo's arm when he doesn't receive any answer and stops him. "Then who are those from? Please tell me they're from some random chick at a bar."

"Baekhyun, he came back," Kyungsoo says. He watches how Baekhyun's eyes widen even more. By the time he feels Baekhyun's grip on his arm loosen and sees the incredulous look on his friend's face, he knows that Baekhyun finally understood.

Baekhyun lets go of his arm, stunned. "N-No. Not this again, Kyungsoo. I thought you already forgot about him—You have to forget about him."

And Baekhyun wants to know why Kyungsoo just stands there and stares at him with narrowed eyes, looking like he didn't understand a word he just said.

* * *

><p>"This way, <em>monsieur<em>," the man, all smiles, tells Kyungsoo as soon as the tip of his fountain pen leaves the list.

Kyungsoo finds himself escorted through the wooden doors, a gloved hand latched firmly on his arm. He's only left alone when he tells the man he can manage on his own.

He starts looking around the expanse of white-clothed round tables before him, eyes glancing past the absurd amount of artificial plants, light fixtures, and Roman paintings lined up against the walls. He finds her in the middle of the room, on the table below the massive chandelier, spinning the glass of La Mondotte in her hand around in small circles, her red lips pressed into a thin line.

Kyungsoo walks up to her, and he's greeted by a whisper: "Tell me why."

That night, Kyungsoo drives home, tired. His tie is wet and smells too much of spilled wine, and her words are echoing clearly in his mind: _"You're insane!". _They don't go away even when he starts pounding the car horn to the sound of the impending traffic.

When he arrives home, he changes into his pajamas, brushes his teeth, and pushes a pill down his throat.

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo wakes up minutes before his usual seven o' clock alarm, but he doesn't get off of bed. Instead, he spends the excess minutes contemplating how he managed to wake up earlier than the set time in his daily routine, considering that he swallowed a sleeping pill the night before.<p>

He eventually thinks about the past days—the fancy French restaurant, the alcohol, the woman, smudged eye make-up, and Jongin. The memories blur together when he tries squeezing his eyes shut, Jongin's face ending up as the watermark, and he opens his eyes as soon as Jongin's smile started to feel too real—too warm.

With three minutes left,he concludes that maybe his body has grown immune to the sedative he takes. He needs a bigger dose.

Kyungsoo turns the alarm off a minute before five-thirty.

Sunlight greets his eyes when he opens the blinds and he winces slightly, before promptly heading to the wardrobe, throwing a prepared set of work clothes onto his bed, and heading to fetch a towel from the dryer. His movements are based on a practiced routine until he hears a hissing sound, something he doesn't recall hearing in any of his mornings. He thinks that maybe his neighbor is getting a flat tire, that maybe it's their cat, or maybe there's a snake in his garden, but then there's the sound of metallic utensils against ceramic plates and the smell of burnt breakfast.

Kyungsoo shuffles out to the kitchen and, of course, he's greeted by the scene of Jongin cooking. He forgot to change the lock again, after all.

Jongin only becomes aware of Kyungsoo's presence when he turns around, face immediately lightening up.

"Morning," Jongin says as he tosses perfectly burnt eggs and toast on a plate Kyungsoo conceives as his. "You're up early?"

"I have work," Kyungsoo says, reluctantly taking a seat as he looks down at the dining table. He's not used to seeing Jongin's cooking on his plates anymore.

Jongin frowns at him before he makes his way towards the coffee mixer. "On a Sunday?"

"Sunday?" Kyungsoo furrows his brows. He picks up the newspaper on the table and searches for the date above the headlines: '_October 19, 2014, _Sunday'. Apparently, he forgot to turn his alarm off yesterday. "Oh. No, I don't."

"That's great then. Even though I knew since I asked Baekhyun hyung for your schedule—and I—" Jongin laughs slightly, putting a hand over his nape. "I brought movies," he says.

And Kyungsoo stops reading the newspaper to look up at Jongin, surprised. Jongin had never been one to initiate, let alone be the kind to ask Baekhyun if he would be free for the day. It had always been him who pushed harder, gave more.

"Well?" Jongin asks as he places a cup of coffee in front of Kyungsoo and takes a seat for himself.

"I think that's great. Yes," Kyungsoo says with a nod. He takes a cautious sip of the coffee Jongin had given him and he almost spits the liquid out when bitterness touches his tongue. The coffee is burnt.

And Kyungsoo tries not to smile because even though Jongin only cooks burnt food and that he may need to teach him how to properly use the toaster in the future, he thinks that he will definitely get used to this. He'll definitely get used to having breakfasts together with Jongin _again_.

They end up watching another episode of their favorite cartoon after seeing that Jongin brought movies both of them have already watched by themselves, some time in the past months when Jongin was gone.

They're both on the floor, backs against the leather of Kyungsoo's couch. The TV volume is set low—too low that Kyungsoo thinks Jongin might have unconsciously pushed the 'mute' button on the remote—and their bodies are close enough for Kyungsoo to hear Jongin's uneven breathing. The violent coyote fails again and Kyungsoo doesn't miss the hitch in Jongin's laughter.

It makes him look at Jongin again, makes him scrutinize how the latter's face looks when laughing, and he starts wondering about what could Jongin have possibly went through in the months he was gone that it earned him a face that doesn't exactly fit his age.

Jongin is laughing too much, Kyungsoo can see tears forming in his eyes. His laughter is too breathy; it almost sounds forced. Then, Jongin starts coughing loudly, voice crackling against his throat, and Kyungsoo watches how Jongin tries to muffle his mouth with his hand.

"Jongin, are you okay?"

Jongin just nods repeatedly, still coughing. He only stops after Kyungsoo starts patting him on the back. Then he straightens, wipes off the lone tear on his cheek. "Yeah, I'm okay. My throat just got itchy because of the popcorn, is all."

"Do you want me to get some water?" Kyungsoo says, ignoring the fact that he hadn't seen Jongin dip his hand into the bowl of popcorn since they started watching the cartoon. He stands up.

"No. No. I'm okay, really. Let's just continue watching." Jongin pulls him back by the wrist.

And Kyungsoo settles closer to Jongin, still contemplating if he should get water despite Jongin's insistence, but then Jongin places a hand over his. It makes him start wondering if it was more than an act of reassurance.

Kyungsoo starts wondering about a lot of things. His mind wanderrs to memories he had months ago, memories he had with Jongin. He thinks about wanting to know the real reason why Jongin came back after that night in the convenience store where Jongin, with tears running down his eyes and knuckles turning bloodless, had told him to forget about them, to forget about him. He wants to know why Jongin left that night without giving him a reason; a reason he wouldn't have known if Baekhyun hadn't offered him company and gotten drunk first.

But more importantly, Kyungsoo wants to know why on that night in the convenience store, he couldn't run after Jongin's retreating back.

"Can't we watch another show?" Kyungsoo whines when he sees the ending credits roll to an end and hears the cartoon's theme song begin again for the fifth time. "I know it's Sunday and there's probably nothing good to watch on TV, but please, Jongin, I think I've watched enough cartoon violence to actually hurt you if you wont stop watching that."

At that Jongin laughs, amused. And then Kyungsoo finds the TV turned off and Jongin looking at him, instead.

He looks at Jongin in the eye and asks him _why_.

And it clearly takes Jongin off-guard, judging from the way he pauses, eyebrows raised in astonishment. Then, he grins again, "I figured we had some catching up to do after that night. I didn't know you were already seeing someone."

Kyungsoo blinks. "Oh. About that actually—"

"I thought about it, hyung," Jongin cuts him off, voice turning steely all of a sudden. "And I think it would be great if you'd get married soon. It would be good for you."

Kyungsoo stares at Jongin. It takes a while before Jongin's words start to make sense, and when it finally does, Kyungsoo could only wish he heard wrong. He opens his mouth and tries to find the right words to say, but he's starting to feel the inside of his eyelids burning, and the only word he can think of is: "What?"

"It would make you forget about me. Maybe not completely, but it will help," Jongin says, his eyes never leaving Kyungsoo's.

"Oh." Kyungsoo smiles weakly. His shoulders fall and his breathing turns into small whimpers because the answer he's been looking for is now within his reach. He just has to ask Jongin, to clarify. "So... is this why you came back?"

Jongin nods, and it's certainly not the answer he wanted. He feels his self crumble, pictures of him and Jongin, shared breakfasts, and lazy Sunday afternoons start flying away from his grasp like a kite, its thin string cut off by the strong wind.

It all comes back to him, that night at the convenience store. The reason why he couldn't chase after Jongin could be that he was too shaken. One moment he was just sitting at a table, hands idly tapping to the beat coming from the store's speakers while waiting for Jongin, then, he finds himself standing, hands balled into fists by his sides, asking why he couldn't hear anything but the sound of his heart beating in sync with every step Jongin was taking away from him.

He remembers it too vividly—the way his nails dug crescents onto his palms and the way his mouth dried with the question he had failed to ask. "Forget you," Kyungsoo starts, fighting the growing lump in his throat. He doesn't want Jongin to leave him tossing and turning at nights, feeling uncertain, again. He doesn't want Jongin to leave him again. "Why do you want me to forget you so badly, Jongin?"

Jongin doesn't answer, just keeps his head low; not wanting to see the look on Kyungsoo's face.

Kyungsoo smiles bitterly to himself, lifting his head slightly to sustain the tears that are threatening to fall from his eyes, because after months of disappearance, he thought—he hoped—that the reason why Jongin came back was to set things right between them again, like he always used to. He thought Jongin would finally stop pushing him away. "You... want me to forget about us, like it never happened. Like half of my fucking life didn't matter—" Kyungsoo's voice breaks, continues on a higher pitch, "—Do you think it's that easy, Jongin?"

"Hyung, no. You don't understand—"

"No!" Kyungsoo stands up, looks down at Jongin, and shouts, "I know you're ill!"

Silence. Jongin looks up at him, his expression, unreadable.

Kyungsoo inhales deeply and tries to calm himself down. His voice drops an octave when he opens his mouth again. "I know you're ill. Baekhyun told me."

"He did, huh? What did he tell you?"

Jongin's eyes are narrowed and Kyungsoo tries his best not to look away but fails. He remembers the weight of Baekhyun's arm around his neck, the smell of alcohol in his mouth. "H-He told me that you were suffering from a lung problem—but,"Kyungsoo stares back into Jongin's eyes, "Why would you try so hard to push me away just because of that? For fuck's sake, Jongin, I can pay any hospital to get you—"

"—treated? I've already stopped smoking, hyung." Jongin sneers.

Kyungsoo sees the coat of unshed tears glazing Jongin's eyes. He suddenly feels afraid to ask. "What... do you mean?"

"I've already stopped smoking, hyung," Jongin's voice is trembling. He looks at Kyungsoo and smiles weakly. "but I—I'm still dying." He places his head between his legs and cries, "I don't know why I'm still dying, hyung—Kyungsoo—I... I don't know."

Kyungsoo lets himself drop onto the couch. "Wait—What? No. You're joking right?"

Jongin says no and Kyungsoo can feel his tears start falling one by one. His voice sounds too fragile and it's as if he's begging when he asks, voice cracking, "Jongin, it's _just_ a lung problem, right?"

Jongin desperately shakes his head, whimpering. The next thing he knows is that Kyungsoo's arms are wrapped around his trembling shoulders, and he smells too much of faded detergent. He smells like home. And for the first time in months, Jongin lets himself break.

"I-I'm sorry hyung. I'm so sorry," he says, voice muffled against the crook of Kyungsoo's neck.

Kyungsoo can't let out a single word.

They spend the remaining hours watching the movies Jongin brought. Silence turns into something comforting yet at the same time suffocating, only broken by the occasional sniffle and the clearing of a throat. Kyungsoo can hear the way Jongin wheezes, each breath making him more restless by the minute.

Jongin doesn't finish his food again, and Kyungsoo wants to know why. "What's it called?"

He doesn't receive an answer.

They're already on Kyungsoo's bed by the time the sun sets. Jongin is tired, he says so as he climbs onto the bed. But just before he falls asleep he mutters an answer against the sheets, "It's COPD, hyung."

Kyungsoo pretends not to hear and leaves him to rest. He comes back after finishing a bundle of paperwork and emptying a carton of grape juice while listening to the late-night news; the reporter's voice is a silent murmuring amidst the sound of his own thoughts.

Jongin hasn't left his spot on his bed. He's curled up in a fetal position, and his blanket is only covering half of his body.

Kyungsoo pulls it over until it covers Jongin's shoulders, and he catches a glimpse of Jongin's face under the moonlight. There are tears that haven't dried on their own, and Kyungsoo wipes them off, running a thumb over Jongin's eyes and cheeks, before popping two sleeping pills into his mouth and tucking himself beside the younger. He wraps an arm around Jongin's waist and nuzzles his nose onto the younger's head, careful not to wake him up. Jongin's hair is damp, but his warmth is nostalgic. Kyungsoo isn't supposed to, but he smiles before sleeping because at least, Jongin didn't push him away.

Kyungsoo wakes up to an empty bed and immediately catches the note on his bedside. Jongin is nowhere to be seen.

"_I'm sorry hyung, but my mind hasn't changed. You deserve better. - J"_

He quickly reaches for his phone, types in the string of numbers buried deep within the furthest recesses of his mind, and calls Jongin.

There's a beep and a woman's voice, "You have reached a number that is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again. Thank you."

Jongin pushed him away again.

Kyungsoo wakes up.


	2. Part Two

Kyungsoo stares at the reflection in the mirror. He sees a man with meticulously coiffed hair and a nonchalant look on the face—all pressed up in a suit and polished to look like the occasional optimistic newbie on Wall street. It's definitely not him, Kyungsoo thinks, because for all he knows, he should be looking like the man who's fucked up by Wall street, red-eyed and forehead permanently wrinkled from all the crying.

Except, he's never been to Wall street and he hasn't been crying from a massive decline of sales. He's been crying because of Jongin.

Kyungsoo glances at his bedside and sees the note Jongin left before leaving. Its ripped corners are taped to the wood and the ink on its surface is barely visible, but he doesn't throw it away. Instead, he treats it like an alarm, a permanent addition to his bedside, the only solid reminder that tells him Jongin left for good.

He reads the note once again, and winces at the fact that it doesn't hurt less when Jongin's thoughts are translated into definite characters in messy handwriting. The words glare up at him as if it they were part of the most convincing sentence man has ever structured. And in this he thinks that maybe Jongin's right. Maybe he does deserve someone better—maybe he should forget about Jongin, and this time, for good.

He rips Jongin's note off of the table and dumps it into the trash bin, along with the photo of him and his former girlfriend. He figures that letting things of the past be the first to greet him everyday when he wakes to turn the alarm off has been holding him back.

Memories are the mind's gift, but only until you open them and find out that what's inside is something you never wanted. Afterwards they become the undesired, the uninvited thoughts, the ghost that haunts you before you sleep.

Kyungsoo smiles after he's closed the trash bin's lid, realizing that he's finally doing it; he's finally letting go of Jongin.

But it's when he sits on the couch in the living room and turns the TV on, bread hanging limply in between his lips, that he realizes he can't do it after all. He can't forget about Jongin, not when their favorite cartoon is playing again, not when he thinks it's funny how their relationship is suddenly exactly like the cartoon. Jongin being the road runner who knows nothing but to run and Kyungsoo being the coyote who would do anything to catch him.

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo curses after the tenth ring. He's been calling the same number for three times but, still, nobody picks up. He dials another number after the fifteenth ring.<p>

It's after four seconds of an upbeat girl group callback tone when Baekhyun answers, "Kyungsoo?"

Kyungsoo sinks in his seat, sighing in relief, "_Finally._ Where's Chanyeol? Why isn't he answering the phone? I've been calling the office for three times. Is he not by the front desk? "

There's a pause before Baekhyun answers, "Chanyeol's with me. We're at a grocery store."

"What? Why? Then who's at the office?"

"No one. It's Sunday. There's no work on Sundays, remember?" Baekhyun drawls, prolonging the last word for emphasis.

"Sunday?" Kyungsoo verifies. He's pretty sure yesterday was Sunday. He remembers reading the date on the newspaper Jongin had given him. But he can hear the dull sound of a shopping cart being pushed and Chanyeol's low voice on the other end, asking about what they should get for lunch. Clearly, Baekhyun's not kidding.

"Are you sure today is Sunday?"

"Yeah. October 19, 2014, Sunday. Kyungsoo... are you okay?"

Kyungsoo walks towards the front door and picks up the day's newspaper, which was dangling from the letterbox. His eyes brush past the headlines: _'economy falls into recession'_ and _'economic losses through drug addiction'_, and confirms the date just above it. It's different from the one he read yesterday.

Jongin must have given him a fake newspaper.

"Yes—just—can you take care of the office for a bit?" he says, running fingers through his hair in frustration when he realizes that maybe Jongin thought it was the only way he could get him to skip a workday; the only way to get him to spend time with the latter.

"This isn't about Jongin is it—"

"No!" Kyungsoo quickly denies, "No, I'm just... going on a vacation. To rest and clear up my mind."

He lets go of air he didn't know he was holding in when he hears Baekhyun sigh, "Okay. Sure, don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, you're the best." Kyungsoo glances at the door to his right which led to his own study. "I'll send the paperwork through fax."

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo prints copies of the most recent photo he has of Jongin, which was taken about two years ago, on photo paper. He listens to the hum of the printer, steady and unnerving in the silence of his study room, and watches how it spits paper out slowly, one inch after another.<p>

Glossy photo paper sticks to his fingers as he touches it, wet ink smearing his skin and Jongin's smile against his fingertips. Jongin looks too young and fragile in the photo, age lost somewhere in between the thin line of ignorance and maturity. His hair is stuck to his skin, eyes crinkled, and smile widened as far as his lips could stretch; he's smiling the kind of smile Kyungsoo knew never reached his eyes.

Kyungsoo gently detaches the photograph from his fingers, careful not to smudge the image, and he thinks about how long has it been since the last time he saw a genuine smile from Jongin.

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, but have you seen this man?" Kyungsoo says to the cashier.<p>

He chews on his bottom lip when the woman leans towards him and squints her eyes at the picture he's holding up. She's the fifteenth person Kyungsoo has asked, and a bubbling anticipation arises in his stomach when he catches a look of recognition in her wrinkled eyes. But it dissipates as fast as it came when the woman shakes her head and frowns, "Sorry, but no. I haven't."

Kyungsoo sighs, "It's okay." He gestures towards the store's glass walls where a few fliers were already posted, weathered and peeling around the corners. "Do you mind, though?"

The cashier shakes her head again. There's a distant glow in her eyes when she smiles, "No, of course you can. Go ahead."

Kyungsoo spends the whole day going in and out of every building on his street, asking people he doesn't know and pasting pictures of Jongin on every solid surface he can find: walls, lamp posts, and trees. He only goes home when the majority of the shops have closed their blinds, when the crowd of people have dispersed, and when the evening was suddenly too cold for him to bear.

But he doesn't sleep lonely, albeit only having the bottle of sleeping pills in his hand to hold for the night.

* * *

><p>The next day is no different. Kyungsoo starts going to nearby hospitals, inquiring whether they recognize the man in the picture or have a patient named 'Kim Jongin'.<p>

The first hospital politely said 'no', and so did the next.

The third one introduced him to an 85 year-old widower.

The last one, which was the closest to Jongin's neighborhood, simply told him to go home.

And so, he does.

After being passed by a few cabs for not sporting a well-pressed suit and a briefcase, Kyungsoo decides to walk. The street where he's in is dark; the only light coming in flickers of green, red, and orange, painting the black pavement in alternate succession. He's at Jongin's neighborhood, after all.

It's still nearing the end of autumn yet Seoul is already so cold. Kyungsoo walks with his head down, stuffing his hands into his jacket's pockets, and it's only a while before someone bumps into him.

Strong hands grip onto his shoulders, keeping him from almost falling back and landing hard on his bottom. "Almost didn't see you there," the stranger smiles before walking away. Somehow, it brings a lot of memories.

Jongin had said the same thing years ago, but with a much lower voice. The kind that sends shivers down Kyungsoo's skin. It had been autumn that time too, the season wherein Jongin disappeared the most, and it was also the night before he left for the third time. Kyungsoo freezes in his spot when he realizes that it happened on the same street he's at right now. He shakes the thought away, looks up, continues to walk, and forces himself not to see—to remember—

_Jongin had thrown an arm tightly around his neck that time, dragging him down the street, and maybe just a little closer to his chest. Kyungsoo had punched Jongin lightly on the shoulder, laughing, "What are you saying?"_

"_The likes of you," Jongin had started, burying a finger over Kyungsoo's chest, "Need something to be noticed because you're too small. I think a billboard advertisement would suffice, don't you think? Or perhaps a newspaper ad, a page on a magazine—"_

"_Just because you're finishing as the top in our class this semester doesn't give you the rights to insult me. Who knows, the likes of me would actually make it bigger than you in the long run. Business isn't all about graphs and studies." _

"_Yeah, who knows? I don't know anyone who does." Jongin had chuckled, earning him another light punch from Kyungsoo. "Promise me you'll get one, though. If you want, we could get one together."_

Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes shut as he turns a corner, passing by the park where Jongin had kissed him in public. The swing where they sat is still there, its chain rusting from old age.

"_Hyung, I wont be here for Christmas." Jongin had announced, too out of the blue after cracking a joke Kyungsoo deemed was funny._

_Kyungsoo had stopped laughing, wide grin pressed and shut into a thin line. "Why, because you're running away again? Jongin, you've left without saying anything for two times already this month—"_

"_I'm telling you now, Hyung. It's something important. I need to get better," Jongin had said, kneeling in front of Kyungsoo who was sitting on the swing, all the while turning Kyungsoo's jaw slightly with a hand so that he was looking at him in the eyes._

_Getting better at what, exactly, Kyungsoo had failed to ask because Jongin had looked so serious, like he was actually telling him the reason behind his disappearances, and it was not long before Jongin had pressed lips against his. Luckily, there had been no people around the park at that hour, but even if there were Kyungsoo wouldn't have stopped because all he could think of was how Jongin's mouth felt so warm, and how he could somehow taste the faint hint of a finished cigarette._

_Jongin came back a month after Christmas but soon left again in the middle of their last semester. It was then that Kyungsoo completely stopped caring, or at least tried his best to. It was the only thing he could do when Jongin told him to forget about everything. He didn't care even if Jongin didn't show up at their graduation ceremony, even if Baekhyun had grabbed him by the collar, hauled him backstage, and asked him why he had let Jongin leave._

"_He could have graduated with honors in our class if you hadn't let him leave. You know how much he wanted this," Baekhyun had said, fist wrapped around the hem of Kyungsoo's collar._

"_So what—"_

"_Stop acting like you fucking don't care, Kyungsoo!" _

"_Why should I care? Huh? Tell me."_

_Baekhyun had tightened his grip around Kyungsoo's collar. There was this unexplainable anger in his eyes. Kyungsoo couldn't quite point out where it was coming from. "You don't even know why he left."_

_"It's because I don't care about Kim Jongin anymore." Kyungsoo had torn Baekhyun's grip off of him and straightened his tie. "We're finished," he had said before rushing to the stage where he was awarded as the top of their class._

It's when Kyungsoo stops by the bar where Baekhyun had told him that Jongin was ill that he successfully hails a cab. He scurries inside the vehicle, almost slamming the door behind him in an effort to relieve himself from the cold weather.

From the backseat, Kyungsoo can clearly watch how the building slowly fades in the distance, but he doesn't look back from the window, instead, he rests his head against it. He never looks back, because whenever he does, regret is the only thing that greets him—regret in the form of Jongin and missed chances.

His breath blows white condensation against the glass and blurs the city lights outside. And he wonders if everything would've been different if he hadn't let Jongin leave, if he had held on, if he had chased after Jongin.

The cab pulls at a stop a few blocks away from his house. Kyungsoo steps out and hands the driver paper bills, insisting that the latter should keep the change. And he does—anybody would, if given the chance—but Kyungsoo doesn't care because giving out extra cash didn't matter to him. He is someone who owns a page on a magazine, after all. He makes a mental note of telling Baekhyun to get them a billboard advertisement.

The walk towards his house isn't long, but his steps become uncoordinated by the time he starts walking towards the front porch of his house. His head is throbbing and he feels drowsy. He thinks he's going to collapse if he'd dare take another step.

The night is cold, yet he can feel sweat sticking to his nape and trickling down his back once he reaches the front porch. He looks up and his vision starts doubling, blurring, sharpening, and blurring, and sharpening—and suddenly there are three doors in front of him.

Fortunately, he opens the right one, gets inside his house, shuts the door behind him and—

Then everything turns black.

* * *

><p>Pain is the first thing that greets Kyungsoo when he wakes up to a violent pounding in his head. He opens his eyes and winces at the bright light coming from the narrow crack on the door. The room he's in is dark, and it's only when warm bedsheets brush against his skin instead of cold cement that he realizes he's on his bed and in his bedroom. He grunts as he tries to sit up, pressing a palm on a spot on his forehead where his headache seemed to be the worst.<p>

There's a low buzz coming from the living room and Kyungsoo quickly gets up, stumbling forward when his foot gets caught in the blanket. He runs towards the living room and expects to see Jongin lying on the couch, limbs splayed all over leather, watching a cartoon rerun, and ready to smile at him, but he stops in his tracks when he sees Baekhyun instead.

Kyungsoo smiles weakly to himself. He still has a knack for being wrong in things that involve Jongin.

Baekhyun is sitting in the middle of the couch, body leaning against the headboard. He's staring blankly at the TV screen, almost as if he's staring past it. It takes two mindless TV advertisements and a switch of a channel before he notices Kyungsoo's presence. He turns to face the latter.

"You're up. Are you okay? What happened to you?" He watches as Kyungsoo brings a hand up to massage his temples. There are faint creases appearing on the places he remembers were devoid of them before.

"Yeah I'm okay now, thanks. I was just tired—"

"Tired? Kyungsoo, you collapsed by the doorway and you're telling me you were just tired?"

Kyungsoo averts his eyes towards the TV screen in front of Baekhyun. He's not really in the mood to talk. The pounding in his head worsens by each minute he spends standing and his equilibrium is messed up. He feels as if he's trying to balance himself on a rope, tottering every now and then. The blur of the pictures on the TV screen only makes things worse.

Baekhyun looks at Kyungsoo and notices the unusual exhaustion in his eyes, bright red and teary from the glare of the TV screen. "Wait... you're not taking those sedatives again, are you?"

Kyungsoo inhales deeply. And exhales—

"Kyungsoo—"

"I said I was just tired! Okay!?" he exclaims, making his head hurt even more.

Baekhyun stares at him, speechless. He sighs as he searches for the remote and turns the TV off just as Kyungsoo lets himself drop onto the couch. "I'm just worried about you. You told me that Jongin came back."

Kyungsoo turns to Baekhyun. But he doesn't say anything.

"You don't have to take those pills to forget him, Kyungsoo. I can take you back to—"

"I dont..." Kyungsoo pauses. He wants to tell Baekhyun that he doesn't want to forget Jongin anymore, but he knows it's not what the latter would want to hear. So he swallows the words down and chokes out a lie instead. "I'm not taking any pills, Baekhyun."

Kyungsoo fiddles with the tiny scratch on the surface of the couch, tracing his fingers over the rough white trail of damaged leather when Baekhyun doesn't look convinced. "Why are you here anyway? How did you get in?"

Baekhyun shifts in his seat. "I came to give you back the paperwork you sent. They were all blank. I tried knocking, but you didn't answer and the door was unlocked so I opened it and found you unconscious on the floor—"

"Wait—Blank? The paperwork I sent to you were all blank?" Kyungsoo sits up abruptly.

"Seriously Kyungsoo, you didn't notice?" Baekhyun shoots him an incredulous look. He shrugs when Kyungsoo just stares at the ground. "Well, don't worry about it anymore. I'll finish them myself."

Baekhyun gets up from his seat and grabs his messenger bag from the floor as he motions towards the door. But before he could move past the couch, a hand yanks him by the wrist and stops him.

"Hey, listen, I'm sorry for shouting earlier. My headache's that bad," Kyungsoo says, his hand firmly latched onto the spot just above Baekhyun's silver wristwatch. He only loosens his grip when Baekhyun turns around to face him.

"Just... take a vacation, Kyungsoo. You clearly need it," Baekhyun says, lips pressed firmly to suppress a sigh.

"Thank you for everything."

"It's nothing, _Soo." _Baekhyun watches with amusement as Kyungsoo cringes at the nickname he used to call the latter in high school. "Just make sure you get your shit back together before it's my turn to come to you and complain about Chanyeol. Or life. Or whatever."

"Wow, just one day away from the office and you two are already a _thing_?"

"We've been dating behind your back for two months now. I wouldn't call it just a _thing_."

"That's against office rules—"

"I bought dinner for you. It's in the fridge."

Kyungsoo smiles because, of course, this is Baekhyun. This is the only person whom he could never win against. "Nice save."

Baekhyun nods and playfully mouths an 'I know' before giving him a pat on the shoulder and heading for the front door.

Unlike Jongin, Baekhyun closes the door with a loud click.

"Jongin," Kyungsoo mumbles as he lets himself fall back onto the couch again. He places a hand over his forehead and tries pressing circles on his temples with a thumb as he thinks about how the paperwork he sent to Baekhyun ended up blank and unfinished.

Unable to find a logical explanation, he doesn't eat the food Baekhyun bought for him. Instead, he takes a painkiller for dinner and three sleeping pills to bed.


	3. Part Three

It's Tuesday afternoon—exactly two days after Jongin's disappearance—and little droplets of rain are knocking on Kyungsoo's bedroom window, pitter-pattering and pitter-pattering by the windowsill. It sounds like little footsteps, Kyungsoo thinks, as he stares at the ceiling. A heavy sigh escapes from his lips as he turns to shift in his bed. As expected, the space beside him is still empty, save from the mess of blankets and the lingering warmth of Jongin's scent on his pillows.

Jongin still hasn't come back.

Kyungsoo sits up groggily. His headache had left him during his slumber and all that remains is a dull gnawing at the back of his head. He thanks the empty packet of pills on his bedside and does a few stretches, which were supposed to be done in the morning, before heading to the shower. He still has to look for Jongin, after all.

But the plans he had for the day end up getting ruined when the rain decides to continue pouring even after he steps out of the shower. It turns into a storm by the time he's finished a cup of coffee and stuffed bread into his mouth. He figures that he can't go out in this weather—there will be no one to ask if they've seen Jongin. He decides to spend the day inside and wait for phone calls, instead.

His house is the aftermath of modernized architecture, concrete walls attached to polished wooden flooring and deprived of anything older than a decade. Almost everything is made of white: the walls, the ceiling, and the furniture—too white that the smallest stain could ruin the whole imageand the absence of a person can make it feel abandoned. Kyungsoo decides to clean the house while waiting for his phone to ring. He finds Jongin's old lighter and a half-empty pack of cigarettes at the very back of his cabinet. He tries to smoke one and then another one until he's emptied the pack as he waits, and waits, and waits for a call. Sooner than enough, the pack of cigarettes in Kyungsoo's hand is emptied; a kingdom of ashes has developed on the wooden floor below him. His hands are shaking and he smells too much of smoke—he smells too much of Jongin. And somewhere along the time he tries to fight a budding cough caught in his throat, he thinks that maybe Jongin feels like this.

He continues to wait. He's sure that he had placed the right phone number and even the promise of a reward on the posters he had spread around the city. Surely, somebody was bound to call soon, but then a new morning rises from the skyline and still, his phone hasn't rang.

So even with a mind muddled with smoke and lack of sleep, Kyungsoo decides to head out to the streets.

Wednesday morning quickly turns into afternoon and then night with Kyungsoo hopelessly looking for Jongin in the latter's neighborhood, and, of course, he doesn't find him. Maybe even after he has searched the entire city, every nook and cranny of every alley, he still wouldn't find Jongin. Somehow, the fact doesn't surprise him anymore. Perhaps it's because he's gotten too used to Jongin's absence that his heart had unknowingly grown a callus, one that only bleeds whenever he tries to get rid of it. Perhaps his whole heart had grown into a callus.

Kyungsoo doesn't take a cab home and decides to walk instead, even if the sky looked like it was going to cry again, and along the way, he finds himself looking up at the myriads of billboards that decorated the city. A particularly damaged one catches his attention; its sides were ripped, making it look like it was ready to fall onto the streets below any minute from now. It's going to be taken down soon, Kyungsoo thinks, and even though its size was too small for his liking, he takes a note to rent the space as soon as possible. He thinks that it'd have to do for the company's first billboard ad.

His eyes eventually travel to the bigger one beside it, probably the biggest in Jongin's neighborhood, and he scoffs. It had nothing but a plain shot of a burning cigarette dud against a white background, black smoke unfurling and morphing into a faceless silhouette of a person crawling for help. Below the cigar were ashes formed together to spell out a screaming: 'SMOKING KILLS' in bold intimidating letters. Kyungsoo doesn't know why he suddenly feels a pang of anger wash through him, flipping over his beliefs and scrubbing him clean of hope like he was a dirty overused shirt. Maybe it's because he thinks that the anti-smoking ad was a waste of huge billboard space, or maybe it's because he thinks that the silhouette resembled too much of Jongin.

So Kyungsoo runs, and runs, and runs as if his life depended on it. He doesn't stop until he passes by a lineup of trees that each had Jongin's face pasted on them. The posters were all wrinkled and tearing off, probably from the rain yesterday; the text and Jongin's face now barely recognizable, but Kyungsoo could still make out the stupid smile on Jongin's face. So he tears them off one by one, crumples them all into this huge fucking ball, and shoots it into the nearest trash can like how he does in the office. And of course, he misses and he cries. For the first time in months, Kyungsoo cries so hard because he fucking misses. He fucking misses Kim Jongin.

His knees plant themselves onto the pavement as he breaks into tears. And as if on cue—as if all of this was part of a drama wherein he's the kicked character—the rain comes pelting down, hard and almost solid against the ground. Kyungsoo cries even harder. He doesn't care if people are starting to stare at him like he's gone mad, and he thinks that maybe he _has _gone mad because he's starting to believe that the sky is sympathizing with him.

He only starts to care once he feels that he has cried enough, that care only going as far as taking himself inside his own house, shoes squelching and pressing wet footprints against wooden tiles as he makes his way towards his bedroom and collapses onto his bed; a few days' worth of fatigue finally taking its toll on him.

To Kyungsoo, it feels like the first time he's allowed to fall asleep again without a packet of pills and Jongin's warmth beside him.

* * *

><p>"Hyung."<p>

It's coming closer. Kyungsoo turns around but sees nothing or no one responsible for the ringing in his ears. He's in a black void, Kyungsoo realizes, as he takes a step back and doesn't feel anything solid beneath his bare feet. He doesn't fall either.

"Hyung!" the disembodied voice screeches, breaking and warping into a piercing cry. Kyungsoo instinctively cowers, hands moving up to cover his ears. But he can still hear even in the makeshift silence—he can hear the echo of shoe heels against concrete tiles, loud and intimidating, and how the high-pitched screaming slowly disappears over the sound of approaching footsteps that only arrive at a full-stop after he stops counting at six.

And then there are cold hands cupping Kyungsoo's cheeks. The touch stings his skin, making him look up only to meet a pair of familiar eyes. He lets out a silent gasp. There's something about the brown eyes staring down at him, gaze obscured by the faint glow of tears, like a secret waiting to be unveiled.

Exactly what, Kyungsoo only finds out when chapped lips brush gently over his and when the voice whispers softly against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine, "Please, hyung, let me go."

_Jongin_.

A dream. Kyungsoo opens his eyes and the clock on his bedside tells him it's already five-thirty in the afternoon, and that he had managed to sleep soundly through his morning alarms, all of which were set between his practiced morning time frame.

He looks around and his whole room is blanketed in darkness, save from the muffled light behind the white curtains. But that doesn't stop him from rechecking to see if it really is five-thirty in the afternoon.

17:31pm. He overslept. Kyungsoo gets off of bed and walks groggily towards the window. The sky outside his window is clear; there's not one cloud in sight. And Kyungsoo realizes that it is afternoon, and that he wasted hours which were supposed to be spent in searching for Jongin by oversleeping.

He changes into something that isn't his pajamas, gags on mouthwash, and skips breakfast and lunch. His leather shoes are still soaked and perhaps permanently ruined from yesterday, so he tugs on an old pair of red sneakers that he thinks he hasn't used ever since he graduated from college. They still look new, which is odd because it's supposed to be as worn out as Jongin's since they bought a matching pair after all. But then again, Jongin had always been reckless in taking care of things, regardless of whether or not they mattered to him. Kyungsoo finishes pulling his shoelaces into a tight knot when he hears a knocking at the front door.

He places a hand over the doorknob and waits. Somehow, he feels like he shouldn't open it. But the knocking comes again, although a lot weaker this time—as if the person on the other side is uncertain, and Kyungsoo thinks it wouldn't hurt if he'd just open the door.

But it does when he takes in a reluctant smile and weary eyes, aiming to look healthy in a hospital gown and with a worn-out duffel bag over the shoulder.

Jongin grins at him as he greets, "Hyung." But it comes out as a whimper.

* * *

><p>The bathroom tiles are cold beneath Kyungsoo's feet as he slowly undresses Jongin, untying the loose knot of the latter's hospital gown. It only costs him a weak tug before Jongin is stark naked.<p>

He leads Jongin to the bathtub by the shoulders, and he yelps when Jongin pulls him in with him. The water is lukewarm as it seeps into his clothing, and Jongin helps him take them off; his shirt,jeans, and underwear—all according to order.

Jongin laughs when he sees the beginnings of a deep blush crawl over Kyungsoo's cheeks. "It's not fun when you're the only one who's doing the scrubbing," he says.

Then, they're both stripped off of clothing with only a few islands of bubbles to cover things the both of them shouldn't be ashamed of by now.

Jongin grabs hold of the sponge first and he starts scrubbing Kyungsoo gingerly, running the soft material over the bend where Kyungoo's shoulder and neck meet, up to the underside of his chin, and to the outline of his jaw. He only stops when Kyungsoo turns him around and swipes the sponge away from his hand, saying as he eyes the dirt on his arms, "You're the one who needs to be cleaned."

With more than one person in the tub, it was cramped and almost impossible to move around without touching. Jongin closes his eyes as he leans back and rests against Kyungsoo's chest, relaxing in the soft touches Kyungsoo is giving him while lathering shampoo over his head.

Kyungsoo's heart drums rapidly against Jongin's back and he tries to drown out the loud beating in his ears by humming a tune as he cards fingers through Jongin's hair. Jongin's breathing echoes against the bathroom tiles, and Kyungsoo feels it, deep and labored against his chest as he wipes the dirt off the younger's cheek. He lets go of the sponge sooner than expected when he feels cold fingers wrap around his wrist. Kyungsoo watches as Jongin brings his hand closer to his mouth, watches as Jongin presses lips onto his fingertips, plants kisses on his knuckles, and traces the folds and creases of his palm.

Jongin turns around and faces Kyungsoo, so close that he could just lean in and kiss him. But he doesn't—not yet.

"I missed you," he whispers.

And with that, Kyungsoo leans in and claims Jongin's lips for his own. He kisses with his eyes closed, blindly pushing in and grabbing a handful of Jongin's wet hair for support when he feels the latter push him farther until he's hitting cold cement. His elbow nudges the shower knob and he sighs as warm water washes away the soap in their eyes. Jongin places hands on his hips and hoists him up the edge of the tub until his knees are the only part of his body that's soaked in water—the rest shivering under Jongin's touches.

And Jongin sucks him off right then and there, his toes curling, head arching back, and sweat trickling down his neck. He screams as he comes undone around Jongin's cold lips, hands tugging onto the younger's wet hair.

Water splashes around them as Jongin takes him hastily out of the tub, urgency marked by the unwillingness to let go of his lips. And despite Kyungsoo's insistence, they don't make it to the bed. Jongin fucks him hard against the wall, trying his best to balance himself as Kyungsoo wraps limbs around his body. Jongin comes inside of him, eyes closed as he latches his lips back onto Kyungsoo's.

Kyungsoo yelps when Jongin lets go of the tight grip he had on his waist. Jongin pushes him harder against the wall, bringing hands up to cup his face and pull it closer, just slightly, so that they were kissing again. Jongin's lips are chapped and his fingers are cold over his cheeks, and it suddenly reminds Kyungsoo of the dream he had earlier. He finds himself waiting for the words to come out of Jongin's mouth as they try to catch their breaths, sliding down against the wall and onto the floor—sweat sticking onto their foreheads.

But when Jongin finally opens his mouth, he says something different, "I don't want you to forget about me anymore, hyung."

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo only realizes that Jongin is still awake by the time the digital clock beside him clicks three-thirty. He tears his eyes away from the ceiling only to see Jongin's back faced to him, whole body shaking as he coughs.<p>

He watches as Jongin languidly pulls the blanket over his shoulder and clears his throat as if he hadn't almost coughed his lungs out, and it's only then that Kyungsoo becomes aware of the chilly breeze coming from the open window. "You're awake," he says, voice almost as soft as a whisper.

It takes a few minutes before Jongin answers him, voice coming softer and smaller than Kyungsoo's, "So are you."

"I can't sleep," Kyungsoo says, eying the untouched glass of water and the packet of pills on his bedside. Jongin stopped him from taking the pills earlier when the younger placed a hand over his and cried and begged for him to believe that he didn't need it.

"Then," Kyungsoo hears Jongin say in between a cough, "stop thinking." before he feels the space beside him dip, before Jongin turns and faces him. "I won't be gone by morning. I won't leave, I promise."

"I wasn't thinking about that." Kyungsoo tries to argue.

But Jongin is grinning too widely that he soon finds himself giving in anyway. "Yes, you were!"

"You look like a kid," Kyungsoo says, in which Jongin responds with a poke to his stomach. "Okay, you _act_ like a kid."

"Says the man who still watches cartoons with me."

Kyungsoo snorts. He wants to tell Jongin that it's just because he's forced to, that he's honestly quite sick of the cartoon. But then he realizes that he isn't the kind to watch a cartoon just because he's asked to, especially if he has watched all of said cartoon's episodes.

Kyungsoo thinks that maybe the reason why he still watches the cartoon with Jongin is because whenever they do, he's granted with the sight of the younger smiling like how he is at the moment, all teeth and crescent-shaped eyes, or maybe it's because he just likes hearing Jongin's breathy laughter. In the end, he finds neither of the two reasons convincing. So he opts not to argue.

Jongin's wide grin recedes slowly into a curve of the lips when Kyungsoo doesn't strike back. "You should sleep now. You still have work tomorrow," he says.

"Jongin, I don't have to. I can skip work—"

"Don't," Jongin explains, "Just because you finally have a page on a magazine doesn't mean you can start slacking, hyung."

Kyungsoo looks at him in the eye. "You... saw?"

Jongin's grin makes an uncalled-for reappearance. "Yes, and I liked your suit. But I think it could have looked better if I was there with you."

And it hits Kyungsoo hard in the guts—Baekhyun's tight grip on his collar, Jongin's finger over his chest, Jongin wanted this, I don't care, but Jongin's ill— "Jongin, I—"

But Jongin is still smiling, "Thanks, hyung. Thank you for keeping your promise." And Kyungsoo finds it—all of this, the memories—nauseating. He finds himself sickening.

When Jongin falls asleep, Kyungsoo almost gives into the urge of swallowing four pills but he manages to control himself when he realizes that it wouldn't be enough to take him away from the nightmare he's currently living in.

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo spends the next few hours in counting the involuntarily hitches in Jongin's breathing. He reaches 17 by the time he gets up at 5:15AM. Jongin is still there like he promised, mouth slightly agape and limbs taking up two-thirds of the bed. Kyungsoo stares at him for a bit, studies the way Jongin's chest rises and falls with every breath, the way his eyelashes casts soft shadows over his cheeks. He runs a finger and traces Jongin's left cheek. Jongin stirs but doesn't wake, and Kyungsoo takes the image in as he briefly wonders if Jongin would still be home by the time he gets back from work.<p>

Kyungsoo takes a shower, dresses himself, cooks for two, and goes to work.

At 8AM sharp, he strides into the hallway and greets Chanyeol, who flashes him a polite smile, by the front desk as he makes his way towards the elevator. Being early at the office has its own perks, one of which includes boarding the lift without being crushed against a corner. Kyungsoo was definitely enjoying one right now as he gets inside the spacious platform, nodding at the workers who cautiously greet him.

A swarm of interns immediately crowd over him as soon as he reaches Baekhyun's office, and the door creaks loudly as he opens it in an attempt to escape from the ambush of questions and work deadlines.

"Hey! You can't go inside without permission—" Junmyeon, Baekhyun's secretary, stands up from his seat outside Baekhyun's office and points at Kyungsoo with a dirty look before sitting back down, his voice dropping low, "Good morning, sir. I'm sorry, I thought you were one of the interns."

Kyungsoo nods at Junmyeon before closing the door behind his back. Baekhyun is at his desk, head fixed onto the mounds of paper before him as his hand moves in practiced strokes.

"I didn't think it would be this chaotic without me. You've got a lot of fans outside," Kyungsoo says.

"Why are you here?" Baekhyun asks, ignoring Kyungsoo's statement. He doesn't even raise his head to look at the other. "I thought I told you to take a vacation."

Kyungsoo honestly wishes that he was at home but then he remembers Jongin's words. "I don't need a vacation, Baek. I'm okay now. And judging from the situation outside, I think it'd be better if I were here."

Baekhyun raises his head and looks at him at that. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am," Kyungsoo says and Baekhyun flashes him a grin.

But it's when Kyungsoo finds himself throwing up bile inside a bathroom stall at 3PM, trembling hands stretched taut around cold marble and chest bathed in sweat, that he realizes he's not really okay. Acid scalds his throat and he starts throwing up all over the bathroom tiles, arms no longer strong enough to cling onto the toilet.

He's shaking—too much that he can only lie down and lean against the wall after he's sure that he has retched his intestines out.

"Kyungsoo?" He hears someone call and he regrets not locking the door. Loud footsteps drown out his ragged breathing and he only gets to wipe the spit off his chin before the door opens.

Fluorescent light floods inside the stall, reflects against the tiles and the wooden walls, and it suddenly becomes too blinding that Kyungsoo has to narrow his eyes to make out the shadow in front of him.

And, of course, it had to be Baekhyun.

Silence reigns over them. Kyungsoo inhales short puffs of breath and exhales prolonged sighs. He hates how the bathroom suddenly reeks too much of air freshener and digested stench. Baekhyun stares at him intently, walking closer until he's blocking the door way, and he opens his mouth. Kyungsoo only hopes that he doesn't ask. He hopes that Baekhyun can guess from the tears in his eyes and from the way he's lying limply against the wall beside a puddle of his own vomit.

But then again, this was Baekhyun. "How long since your last pill?"

Kyungsoo barely gets to hold up three fingers towards the other as he pants, "Three... days."

* * *

><p>"Baekhyun, relax. It's just a withdrawal. I'm fine," Kyungsoo says from the front seat.<p>

They're inside Baekhyun's sorry excuse for a car, driving towards Kyungsoo's house while Kyungsoo tries to calculate the amount of money Baekhyun had wasted on a black sedan with a roof too low and cushions too soft for his liking.

But Baekhyun doesn't calm down. "What do you mean you're fine?"

And Kyungsoo knows why he doesn't; his friend is just looking out for him like he always does. So he musters up another lie, "I'm really fine. Trust me."

"Sure, because collapsing by the doorway and then puking your lunch out at work is fine. You told me you'd stop taking those pills," Baekhyun says.

Somehow, something about Baekhyun's voice, or perhaps in what he said, strikes a chord in Kyungsoo. "Well, isn't that what you wanted?"

"What are you trying to say?" Baekhyun asks as he pulls the car to a halt just in time for the approaching stoplight just a few blocks away from Kyungsoo's house to turn red.

"Why do you want me to forget about him? Why does everyone want me to forget about him?"

"Kyungsoo you know well why-"

"Yes, I know," Kyungsoo says as he grips onto the seat belt strap over his chest. Jongin is ill. Jongin is dying.

He waits until the car starts moving again before continuing, "But you, Baekhyun, how did you get over him so quickly? It's as if you didn't care for him at all." He pauses to look at the other in the eye, but Baekhyun's eyes refuse to meet his. "You were his best friend, Baek. The only person he told about his condition—and, you told me you loved him when you got drunk—"

"That was back then, Kyungsoo. Please don't bring this up now," Baekhyun solemnly says, voice dipping lower, "I got over him already. I have Chanyeol."

"But you still secretly blame me for everything, don't you? If only Jongin hadn't asked you to look out for me, we both know you wouldn't be here. If you're getting tired then stop it, Baek."

Baekhyun shoots him a look. "What? You think I'm here just because Jongin asked me to be?"

He continues after the car stops in front of Kyungsoo's house, "Do you think I'd be able to stick with you this long if I still hated you? God—Kyungsoo, it's been so long—I'm not looking out for you just because Jongin told me to anymore! Have you always thought that way?"

Kyungsoo couldn't ignore the disappointment in Baekhyun's voice, but there wasn't a way to take back the things he just said.

"You know what? Yes, I'm tired of always having to look out for you. So, okay. Sure, I'll stop. You're too good right? You don't need me anymore," Baekhyun says, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. He looks down at his feet, biting down his lower lip when he says, "You've always been too good. No wonder Jongin chose you over me in the first place."

Kyungsoo steps out of the car and Baekhyun closes the door for him. Seoul near the end of autumn is cold; Kyungsoo's breath fogs against the half-closed windows of the car when he breathes out an apology, "Baekhyun, I'm sorry."

But Baekhyun doesn't look at him, doesn't think twice when he steps on the accelerator and drives away. Kyungsoo watches as the car disappears into the distance, idly picking inside the pocket of his coat as he tugs it closer to his body by the time the car becomes one with the horizon. He heaves a heavy sigh and, suddenly, it's winter.

* * *

><p>Emptiness is the feeling that welcomes Kyungsoo as soon as he steps inside the house. All the lights are off and there's no sign of any low buzzing coming from the television in his living room. It's soon replaced with panic when he catches sight of the breakfast he made for Jongin on the table, still left untouched and freezing. Then, the thought of kicking off his shoes gets ignored by the need to find Jongin. Kyungsoo searches the house, yelling Jongin's name every time he barges inside a room. He's tired and his eyes sting by the time he's finished searching the first and second floor because Jongin promised that he'd still be there once he comes home from work. Jongin can't possibly be gone again.<p>

Kyungsoo is about to leave through the front door when he hears a loud coughing resounding from the basement, the only place he didn't search, and sure enough, he finds Jongin there.

"I thought you left," is what Kyungsoo says as soon as he steps off the last step of the staircase. It's been long since the last time he went down, which was to store boxes of unused office supplies. "You haven't touched the breakfast I made," he says as he steps inside.

Standing in the middle of the room with his back towards Kyungsoo and hands on both sides of his waist, making him look as if he was inspecting the bare cement wall in front of him, is Jongin.

There are reasons why Kyungsoo didn't think Jongin could be in the basement; one of them being the fact that there simply is nothing in the room except for rows of shelves filled with boxes that have gathered dust and cast harsh shadows once exposed under the dull light coming from the rarely used light bulb. Another reason was because aside from boxes, the basement was also filled with buckets of paint—something Kyungsoo thinks Jongin doesn't want to see.

"I just woke up," Jongin answers without looking at him.

Aged dirt smudges Kyungsoo's fingertips when he glides two fingers on top of the box to his left and he frowns at how it feels coarse against his skin. "You shouldn't be here. Won't the dust irritate you?"

"I was touring the house when I came here, and decided that I want to paint your walls. They look too plain, don't you think?" Jongin turns around and flashes a smile that takes Kyungsoo by surprise.

Even though a lot of things have started running rapidly inside his head after what Jongin said, Kyungsoo manages to joke, "Paint? You still know how to?"

"Yes, of course," Jongin says rather indignantly before carefully dragging a bucket of red paint closer to his feet. He uses both hands to lift the bucket, almost as if it were heavier than him, which earns him a funny look from the other. "Want to help?"

A distant memory of Jongin in front of the doorstep, clutching a plastic bag filled with brushes and dripping with acrylic, strikes through Kyungsoo. He remembers that night when Jongin had decided to crash outside his house. Luckily, his parents were asleep that time, or else they could've heard how Jongin broke down and cried as he told him to calm down I'm here, to stop crying you're not alone it's going to be okay. They could've heard how Jongin screamed that no, it's never going to be okay because they never care for what I want, they never care for me. Kyungsoo thinks that maybe that was how Jongin had started smoking more and had landed on the same college course as him.

The sound of Jongin's coughing brings Kyungsoo back from his own thoughts, and he quickly remembers to answer back. "Sure."

But Jongin probably doesn't hear it, judging from the way he's wheezing and leaning forwards with one arm propping himself against the wall. The bucket of paint is now opened, the pungent smell of latex sharp and piercing as Kyungsoo breathes it in. He isn't sure of what to do but Jongin is pointing at his bag and Kyungsoo knows exactly what the latter needs once he opens it.

Kyungsoo hands it to Jongin who was now sitting on the floor with a hand over his mouth. He takes a step back after the younger takes the thing away from his hands and uses it, hands naturally finding their way to bring the inhaler to his mouth. From there, Kyungsoo could only watch how Jongin's eyebrows furrow as he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in too deeply until his back was arched from the wall. He starts counting slowly, waiting until he hears a sharp gasp of air. Jongin exhales too quickly once he reaches ten.

"Thanks hyung." is the first thing that comes out of Jongin's mouth after he relaxes, his voice hoarse and weak. He crouches down a breath later, hands coming up to claw at his face as he tries to fight against involuntary tremors and regain his breathing. "I'm getting... worst, aren't I?"

Kyungsoo shakes his head firmly even though he knows that Jongin isn't looking. "Don't think too much. I'm sure it's just the dust."

"Just the dust," Jongin snickers. His head snaps back up and he's smiling this time, despite the subtle hint of something wet outlining the rims of his eyes. "Maybe you're right."

Kyungsoo does wish he's right. "Let's get out of here, then."

As soon as they get out of the basement, Kyungsoo heads to the kitchen, brings out a kettle and moves to boil hot water. It's still a quarter till sundown, and Jongin decides to break the budding silence between day and night by blasting the stereo in Kyungsoo's living room.

"Come dance with me hyung!" Jongin chimes as he strides into the kitchen moments later, wrapping his arms around Kyungsoo who's standing in front of the kitchen stove with his arms crossed.

"Not until you eat," Kyungsoo says steadily, trying his best to act as if he was completely unperturbed by Jongin's sudden proximity.

"I can't eat that."

"What?" Kyungsoo turns to face Jongin, the latter's hands still on his waist. "You don't like my spaghetti? It has always been your favorite—"

"It still is, hyung. It's just—my condition," Jongin starts, lowering his head so that his forehead touches Kyungsoo's. "I can't swallow food properly. It's hard."

Just as the kettle whistles, indicating that the water inside of it is now boiling hot, Kyungsoo freezes in place. He realizes that he doesn't really know anything about Jongin's condition, doesn't know the do's and dont's in probably saving Jongin's life.

Jongin reaches a hand behind Kyungsoo to turn the stove off. "Okay. I'll promise to eat later. Just come with me this time."

The music sounds even louder once they get to the living room, loud enough that it shakes the glass table beside the stereo. Jongin turns the volume down a little before popping a CD inside the machine. He plays a song Kyungsoo has long forgotten the name of.

"What's the song called?" Kyungsoo asks as Jongin comes up to him.

"It doesn't matter."

"It sounds like it's from the 60's—"

Kyungsoo gets cut off when Jongin grabs hold of both his hands and hurls then spins the both of them around and around until all they can see is each other against blurred surroundings, mouth wide open in muted laughter, holding on to each other's hands in fear that one would let go and send them both off balance. Just as they were slowing down, Jongin stumbles and the both of them land giggling on the floor, heartbeats beating louder than the stereo.

Kyungsoo eagerly stands up not a minute after, pants, "Is that all you've got?" He offers Jongin a hand which the younger takes with the same enthusiasm, and they dance again. Kyungsoo's all scattered limbs and predicted moves, a strong contrast to Jongin's fluid fervor and practiced moves.

Halfway through the song, Kyungsoo discreetly slows down to observe Jongin's dancing. Despite how Jongin seems to miss out on some notes, fall behind a few beats, he thinks that Jongin's dancing is still the same. It still makes him feel a myriad of emotions all at once; all of them making him, if possible, fall harder for Jongin.

Suddenly, Jongin stops, walks towards the stereo, and breathlessly pushes the button that makes a calmer song fill the entire room. His arms wrap around Kyungsoo's waist again in a backhug, hands guiding the older male's hips as the both of them sway to the slow rhythm. He buries his head in the crook of Kyungsoo's neck, chest pressing against the older's back.

And Kyungsoo doesn't miss how Jongin breathes rather too rapidly as if he just came back from running, the whole process—the inhaling then exhaling—not even lasting for a second each.

"Are you okay?" Kyungsoo asks and he turns and sees that Jongin has his eyes shut. "You seem pretty out of breath."

Jongin just manages a nod before burying his head farther into the crook of Kyungsoo's neck. Soon enough, as if the both of them already saw it coming, he starts coughing again. He detaches himself from Kyungsoo, chooses to lean against the couch as support. He's not even trying to muffle his coughs this time, and it all sounds so surreal to Kyungsoo—the way how Jongin's coughing oddly fits the slow song that's currently playing.

And maybe somewhere before the song reaches a full stop, before Jongin starts breathing again, Kyungsoo realizes that  
>Jongin <em>is<em> getting worse.

* * *

><p>"Since when?" Jongin blurts out as soon as Kyungsoo slides the glass door open.<p>

"Since when, what?" Kyungsoo says before standing beside Jongin, three steps too far. They're at the veranda, bodies leaning against the railings and eyes staring down at the city lights below instead of the starless sky above them. The city is calm at the current hour, the occasional blaring of the cars too quiet in the silence of the wind and in the unsteadiness that is Jongin's breathing.

"Since when did you start earning too much?"

Kyungsoo chuckles, shifts all of his weight on to his right foot as he eyes a passing vehicle. "What are you talking about? I don't earn _too_ much."

Jongin takes it as an opportunity to take a step closer. "Well, I guess you're right, since you can't seem to afford not to wear a dress shirt everyday."

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, Kyungsoo steps back. He fakes a nonchalant answer, folding the sleeves of his dress shirt for added effect, "It's just a dress code."

Jongin hums, and it's only then that Kyungsoo notices he's holding something when he waves a set of papers in front of the older's face. "Well, I think your business plan needs revision."

"Revision?"

"Yes, as in changing things to make it better."

"I know what you mean by that, but why should I trust you?" Kyungsoo almost stumbles as he tries to get the set of papers back from Jongin, but Jongin is quick enough to dodge him. "How did you even get that—"

"First, it was lying all over your desk," Jongin says, raising his index finger as if to further emphasize his point. He's smiling, eyes crinkling into crescents, when he brings up the second finger, "Second, I know better than you."

"Oh really? Tell me something I don't know then." Kyungsoo challenges, taking a step closer to Jongin this time.

And Jongin gladly accepts, even stepping forward so that they were now only a few inches apart. "Do you know how you look like when you sleep? Do you know that you always mumble my name?"

"I don't need to know any of that."

"Well, the way you look makes me want to kiss you every time." With that, Jongin closes the space between them with an open-mouthed kiss, hands already letting go of the papers and trailing up to frame the sides of Kyungsoo's hips as he guides the older to move so that he was pushing him against the railings.

Kyungsoo kisses Jongin back without hesitation, welcomes the feeling of blood rushing up to his cheeks and to his ears as if he's already used to it. He pushes his mouth against Jongin's in an attempt to get more access to the younger's mouth with his eyes closed, squeezed shut. His hands are sticky with cold sweat as they trail from Jongin's face down to his throat, his chest, his shoulder. The loud beating of his heart drowns out what's left of the city, but it doesn't erase the taste of nicotine in Jongin's mouth.

Kyungsoo suddenly pushes Jongin away, lips leaving the other's with a light pop. He takes a deep breath, sighs, fixes the collar of his shirt, and runs his fingers through his hair. "Why did you come back?"

"Why?" Jongin asks, tilting his head and smiling when he meets the older's puzzled look. " You don't want me here?"

Kyungsoo thinks about the sessions, the pills, all the things that he did to forget Jongin. All the efforts that went to waste just with Jongin showing up at his doorstep. " I... I don't know. Sometimes I think I don't, but most of the times, I think I do. I do want you here."

"Then, I don't know either. Maybe it's because I need someone to take care of me till I pass away? Somewhere comfortable, of course, like on your bed or on your couch."

Jongin coughs again. He's been smoking behind his back, Kyungsoo can tell, but he doesn't say anything about it. Jongin's chest heaves violently this time, desperate to become one with metal as Jongin presses his stomach against the railings, as if the lack of oxygen would stop him from throwing his lungs out.

"Pass away," Kyungsoo mutters, ignores the prickle, the sudden sting, in his eyes. It's like Jongin going away all over again, but this time, for good. "You can't pass away."

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo sits still in front of his computer, hands typing letters of concern in record speed. The words he's typed end up staring at him moments later, font-sized letters in 12 static and embedded on the white backdrop of the monitor, and he finds himself staring back at the one that somehow summarizes Jongin's illness, the one at the very end of the paragraph: incurable.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Let me go<em>.

Kyungsoo's eyes shoot open, his body abruptly sitting up on reflex, and then he's panting—chest heaving air in and out of his lungs as sweat trickles down his forehead. It's a bad dream again, and it's only after he's calmed down that he notices he's still in front of the computer and inside his own office.

The analog clock on the other side of his office is pointing two-thirty in the morning, and he almost jumps in his seat when he hears a frustrated shout reverberate from somewhere inside the house. He goes out of his office, and after finding out where all the noise came from, down to the basement.

"Jongin!" Kyungsoo calls upon hearing the sound of metal clanking against concrete. The door to the basement is locked and he hurries back up to get the keys from his office, only coming back down in time to see Jongin kick a bucket of paint over, making it fall and spill its contents all over the floor.

Jongin drops his knees on the ground, the cloth of his jeans becoming one with the paint that's pooling beneath him. His hands soon dip themselves onto the red liquid as he starts coughing again, bending his back and breaking himself into half. It's the worst state Kyungsoo has ever seen him in.

Kyungsoo rushes towards the other side of the room, to where Jongin's worn out bag is lying, and empties it—sends unrecognizable objects to the floor as he scrambles to find Jongin's breather.

Soon enough, he comes behind Jongin and makes the latter sit up, dragging him towards the corner of the room until his own back hits the wall. It takes a few movements before they're both sitting down on the floor, with Jongin's back against Kyungsoo's chest, and even more before Kyungsoo brings the breather up Jongin's mouth. His hands are shaking but he manages to press the breather's nozzle after he's sure that its mouthpiece is inside Jongin's mouth. "Breathe it in," he commands.

After Jongin has took in all the air from the breather, Kyungsoo puts the breathing device away and uses his other hand to cover Jongin's mouth as he starts counting from one to ten, his back arching and sinking in sync with Jongin's. The younger's head is resting on his shoulder and from this position, Kyungsoo can smell the paint on Jongin's hair, on his face, and on his shirt.

Kyungsoo waits till Jongin sighs, till his breathing calms down, before he removes his hand from the latter's mouth. And he doesn't know what to feel when he sees crimson staining the skin of his palm. It doesn't feel like paint.

He hides his hand away when Jongin shifts.

"I—I tried—I wanted to paint—I wanted to paint you, hyung," Jongin says, his voice trembling. "But my hands—they—"

Kyungsoo tightens his arms around Jongin's waist, shushing the latter. "They shake, I know. I've read," he whispers. He looks at the stray strokes of paint on the concrete wall before them. "You can't hold a brush like you used to before, I know. But it's normal, Jongin. It's normal," Kyungsoo continues, trying hard to look away from the blood on his hand.

* * *

><p>"Come inside, it's cold out here tonight. Aren't you going to sleep?" Kyungsoo asks.<p>

They're at the veranda again, with Jongin still not out of his paint-smudged shirt, hands nursing an unlit cigarette. "Old habits die hard," he says, but Kyungsoo doesn't take the cigarette away from him. He wouldn't know how to anyway, not when Jongin is holding onto the little stick as if it were his only lifeline.

Jongin lifts his head, letting go of an imaginary puff of smoke, and Kyungsoo pretends to watch the gray mist that's supposedly coming out of his dry mouth as it disappears into the sky and to the clouds that speak of winter rain.

"I don't feel like sleeping," he says, taking in another drag of nonexistent smoke. "How about you? You look like you haven't slept for days."

"Maybe it's because I'm still not used to sleeping without taking a pill."

"You've stopped taking them?"

"It's actually been more than a week."

Jongin hums. "That's good to hear."

The air between them plunges into a quick silence, allowing each of them to compile their own thoughts and construct understandable sentences before it ends, and it only does so when Jongin turns to look at Kyungsoo. And Kyungsoo tries hard to forget about what happened earlier as he takes in the red smudge on Jongin's shirt. But he fails.

"Jongin," Kyungsoo starts, trying to find the right words. The blood stain on the skin of his palm has turned dry and sticky. "Jongin—I...I think we should take you back to a hospital."

A pause; Jongin doesn't answer, only blinks languidly at him, eyes feigning perfect indifference. He takes it as an invitation to go on.

"Jongin, listen to me. I've read about your disease. I know more about it now than I did before. I know that's it's incurable, but we can try to stop it from getting worse right? It's not a terminal disease—Jongin, I—the doctors can still save you—"

"That's not what they told me the last time I was there," Jongin cuts Kyungsoo off sharply. He brings the unlit cigarette back up to his mouth, wedging it between gritted teeth. "They've already done what they could," he says with no hint of hesitation in his tone.

"How can you be so sure—"

"End stage COPD. I'm sure you've read about it too."

Kyungsoo doesn't blink, eyes too focused on the syllables that's coming out of Jongin's mouth. "There wasn't anything about—"

"It means I'm at the fucking edge of dying. It means that there's only about 50% of my lungs keeping me alive. It means that I'm going to die trying hard to catch my last breath." He throws the cigarette away, drops it onto the floor and steps on it, desperately putting out a fire that wasn't even there. "Don't you think I'm pathetic, hyung? I can't even paint or dance anymore. I'm going to fucking die of COPD when others that have the same disease as I do, _live_."

"Maybe if you'd rest—if we went to the hospital-"

Jongin sighs heavily, tired of having to repeat the truth to everyone—to himself—over and over again. "There's no saving me, Kyungsoo."

"Why are you being so cynical about this?"

"Why? Have you seen anyone happy about dying? Do you think you know all about this? I've had this _thing_ ages before you fucking knew, Kyungsoo. You don't have the right to tell me what I should do and what I should feel."

Kyungsoo stiffens, balls his hands into fists. "I just want to help you, Jongin."

"Don't you think it's two years too late for that?" Jongin asks.

Kyungsoo stares at thin air, confused. But he remembers it clearly. The crescents on his palms. The convenience store. The image of Jongin's retreating back disappearing into the dark—forever. He's tired. They're both tired.

Jongin doesn't speak for a long time, but when he does, it's barely a whisper. "You should sleep first. I'll go in later."

Eleven slowly drifts into midnight with Kyungsoo staring at the ceiling above him. He's tried shifting and turning, tried his best to find the best position—even counting all the dents on the wall—but he still couldn't sleep. So, he makes his way towards the kitchen and grabs a half-empty bottle of brandy and takes it to the living room.

He turns the TV to a documentary about mental illnesses, and finds himself smiling at the sound of the narrator's monotonous voice. It doesn't take long for his eyes to feel heavy, but they open again once Jongin passes by him and walks into the bathroom.

And it's only when Jongin's coughing starts echoing from the bathroom that Kyungsoo realizes that the brandy tastes just like the one he had days ago, that maybe it's the same bottle, that Jongin can be gone any moment from now, and that he's really, _really_, alone.

* * *

><p>Another morning comes, and Kyungsoo wakes up to the blood stain that had dried on his palm. He forgot to wash it off.<p>

Jongin is lying on the floor, sleeping. There's crimson on the corner of his lips and on the collar of his shirt.

Kyungsoo gets off of the couch and straight to the bathroom. There's blood on the floor too. He turns the tap on, washes drool off of his face, and looks at the floor again through the vanity mirror after the cold morning water splashes him wide-awake; It's spotless. Everything in the bathroom is just how he left it the last time.

He comes back to the living room with a hot towel and a basin in hand, and washes Jongin's face, making sure to gently scrub the blood off the latter's face. Jongin's lips break into a small smile by the time he moves to wipe them with the tip of the towel, and it eventually grows into a state of awareness as he lifts Jongin's smudged shirt, takes them off, and helps the younger change into a clean black sweater.

Jongin only slings an arm over Kyungsoo's shoulders in the process, warm morning breath lightly blowing against the shell of Kyungsoo's left ear.

Kyungsoo inhales, deeply, and maybe tilts his head a little closer to Jongin's arms. "Why did you sleep on the floor?"

"I'm sorry," is what Jongin replies.

The way to Kyungsoo's room only takes a few bumps against the walls, suppressed chuckles into ears, a peck on the lips, and a door left open.

"I'm sorry," Jongin repeats once they drop onto the bed, bodies alternately rebounding from the cushion.

"Sorry," Kyungsoo looks at Jongin, amused at the way the latter's hair has stuck in all of the ways they shouldn't. "For what?" And he doesn't avert his gaze even when Jongin inches closer to him, even when their noses touch, even when Jongin returns his stare.

"For everything," Jongin whispers.

"For everything," Kyungsoo repeats, "I'm sorry too."

* * *

><p>Kyungsoo's definition of 'time left to spend with Jongin' slowly stretches from seconds into minutes, to hours, to days, and to weeks—a complex cycle of coming nearer or farther from infinity. He spends every bit of it with Jongin, snuggling on the couch, trying to filter fresh air into their lungs from the veranda, watching cartoon reruns, then arguing about watching the news instead. And it's during the time he spends listening to the hitches in Jongin's breathing, watching Jongin break himself into two when he coughs, wiping the tears in Jongin's eyes after the latter uses his breather, and being alone when Jongin <em>unintentionally <em>sleeps for 25 hours is when his definition of 'time left to spend with Jongin' crumbles, turns upside down. And he thinks that maybe it has always been upside down from the very start, that maybe they started from the highest point and are now falling quickly from weeks, to days, to hours, to seconds, till, eventually, the end.

Days.

"Baekhyun?" Kyungsoo answers into the receiver. He catches how Jongin stares up at him as he sits up, crosses the living room, and excuses himself into the kitchen. "You called."

"I was actually expecting you to be the one to make the call, but as expected, you're still that same heartless _friend_," Baekhyun jokes, voice drowning out the echo of the TV from Kyungsoo's living room.

"I was planning to—honestly—but, hey- listen, I'm sorry for what I said," Kyungsoo says as if he'd been waiting to do so for a long time.

"Forget about it. I was at fault too; I got too affected. Besides, you already apologized before, right?"

"Yeah...Thanks," Kyungsoo sighs in relief. "So... how are things going on there?" he starts.

"You mean the company? Well, we've managed to finish projects without your presence so you don't need to come back."

Kyungsoo scoffs, "Really now..."

"But you should come back. It's quite boring when I can't talk to anyone here without being expected to give them a raise."

"Soon, I promise. I'll come back soon."

"Though that's unlikely, I'll have your office cleaned by the time you _do_ get back," Baekhyun says, and Kyungsoo can almost see the way he's smiling. "See you soon, Kyungsoo."

The call ends, leaving Kyungsoo a bit confused. But he finds himself dismissing it as one of Baekhyun's jokes.

Kyungsoo comes back to the living room to a sight of Jongin lying on the couch with a hand propping up his head; He's watching cartoons again. Kyungsoo tells Jongin to scoot over but the latter just lifts his head up, making just enough space for him to squeeze in and sit properly and when he does, Jongin immediately rests his head on his lap.

"You're watching that show again," Kyungsoo mock-sighs, treading fingers through Jongin's untamed hair.

"I didn't think they'd air it non-stop for a whole day, though. Don't you find it weird too?" Jongin looks up at him, looking as innocent as a child with a lot of unanswered questions.

"Now that I think of it... yeah," Kyungsoo furrows his brows, confused as to how they've been watching the same show for days.

"Anyway, who called you?" Jongin asks.

Kyungsoo pauses, fidgets with the remote control, before answering. "It was Baekhyun."

"He still keeps in touch with you? How is he?"

There's this palpable burst of enthusiasm in Jongin's voice, and Kyungsoo immediately remembers the night Baekhyun had told him that he was in love with Jongin, that it's all his fault. Kyungsoo turns the TV off. "He's doing fine. He's actually my business partner, we run this advertising thing."

"Is that the reason why your company runs slowly?" Jongin snickers.

And Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, forces himself to forget how Baekhyun had sobbed—mourned—in front of him with his head down, body-shaking, whimpering. "Maybe, but at least he can do the job right."

Jongin smiles at him. "That's great."

He's finding It hard to forget. He needs a pill.

* * *

><p>Minutes<p>

Winter comes in a blink of an eye with bits and pieces of snow knocking and sticking to Kyungsoo's bedroom window. Jongin rarely goes out Kyungsoo's room now, just stays the whole day in bed.

The house feels too empty and too quiet even with Kyungsoo's midnight sobs in the bathroom; He has to occasionally check on Jongin to assure himself that the younger's still there. And he always finds Jongin lying lethargically in bed with only the unsteady rising and falling of his chest indicating that he's still alive, that he's still with Kyungsoo.

Days past and Kyungsoo finds it hard to get used to only getting the chance to talk to the latter whenever he brings lunch Jongin doesn't want to eat.

"Hyung," Jongin speaks for the first time this day.

And Kyungsoo rushes to the edge of the bed, abandoning the apple that he was busy peeling.

"Hyung, can you tell me a story?" Jongin smiles weakly this time.

Kyungsoo feels something in his eyes. Jongin looks so frail up-close. "It's not bed time yet, Jongin."

Jongin makes a face. "But I want to sleep. I want to fall asleep to your voice."

The bedsheets feel comfortable when Kyungsoo tucks himself close to Jongin, and he just wants to stay beside Jongin for awhile, even though the latter doesn't feel as warm as he did before; Jongin feels like winter. "But promise me you'll wake up, okay?"

Jongin nods.

"What do you want it to be about?" Kyungsoo asks.

"Anything with a happy ending," Jongin answers, coughs.

"Okay, I'll try." Kyungsoo says, pulling the blanket up so it would cover Jongin's shoulders. "So... So, they bumped into each other at their highschool's corridor. One asked for the other's name, and after much pestering they became friends." Kyungsoo watches Jongin's mouth bloom into a smile. "They were happy. But one started to drink, smoke, run away, and cry too much. And the other... was just too blind that he didn't notice him wasting away."

"They landed the same course in college, did well and even promised a future together. " Kyungsoo's throat runs dry. His breathing shallows. "But one started running away and smoking again. Until one day, he ran away for good, leaving everyone who cared for him crying."

"And—" Kyungsoo's voice cracks, "The other wished he came back. He wishes it every fucking single day. He regrets not going after him, for not being there for him—He—All I ever wanted was for them to grow old together, Jongin! Grow old until they spend the last of their fucking days tired and wrinkled in front of a fireplace in a bricked house. I wanted to them to fix things—I'm sorry, Jongin—"

Silence.

"I thought," Jongin asks, covering his eyes with his right arm. "you said it was going to be a happy one?"

Something wet touches the back of Kyungsoo's hand. "Stop crying. I told you I'd try."

"But you're crying too."

* * *

><p>Seconds<p>

Kyungsoo's eyes are crusted with sleep when he opens it to the blinding light peeping from the white curtains of his bedroom window. He sits himself up, promptly stretching his arms upward. His neck is stiff and his back aches from slouching and staying half-asleep against the plastic chair he'd placed between the nightstand and his bed.

Jongin is on his bed, snug in layers of cloth that makes him look like a huge pile of blankets on Kyungsoo's bed. He's still asleep, and Kyungsoo doesn't expect him to wake up till evening.

So Kyungsoo takes a bath, puts on a pair of pants and a sweater, and cooks breakfast for two. He's planning to buy a packet of sleeping pills and a refill for Jongin's breather from the nearby drugstore while Jongin is still asleep.

He scribbles the words: "_Went to the drugstore. Will be back asap._" onto a white post-it note and sticks it onto the fridge, but he takes it off and sticks it onto the nightstand in his bedroom instead. He figures that Jongin might find it hard to stand up and look for him.

Before he leaves, he turns up the heater and brings the blanket up to Jongin's shoulders.

"For the last time, sir, your prescription has expired. We can't sell you the sleeping pills unless you get another prescription from a doctor," the woman says, practiced smile faltering. She hands Kyungsoo back the tattered piece of paper which was supposed to get him a new packet of sleeping pills.

Kyungsoo visibly sighs. "Okay. I understand. Can I atleast have a refill for this?" He hands out Jongin's breather.

The woman takes it. She traces a finger by the small bottle's barcode before giving Kyungsoo a funny look. "You haven't had a refill for two years? "

Kyungsoo just nods.

The drugstore is void of a crowd of people at the current hour, with only the sound of low murmuring and the news from the mounted flatscreen TV by the cashiers filling it's corners. The TV drowns out the opening and closing of cash registers, its screen playing the local morning news.

"_A male tourist was found lying lifeless on his hotel bed."_

Kyungsoo doesn't exactly know why, but his own heartbeat quickens. Something is telling him that he should rush home and check on Jongin. But the woman still hasn't come back with Jongin's refill.

"_Recent autopsy results say that he died from suffocation rather than from drug overdose."_

He rushes home.

"Jongin, I'm home," Kyungsoo pants. Chokes. Shouts. "I'm back."

There's no answer. Maybe Jongin is still asleep.

Kyungsoo drops his car keys on the floor and checks the kitchen. The food, Jongin's breakfast, is still untouched. He makes it to his bedroom, Jongin is there.

Jongin is there, lying on his bed. But he's not moving. He's not breathing anymore.

No.

Kyungsoo scrambles to the bathroom, opens his medicine cabinet, and goes back to his bedroom. He swallows everything—every kind of pill on his hands.

The pile of blankets are still on his bed, unmoving. Not breathing. Not Jongin.

No.

Kyungsoo tries swallowing without water. But he chokes. He chokes all of them out. "Jongin!"

"Come back!" he cries.

His hands tremble as he panics to fish out his phone from the pocket of his pants. His vision is blurred with hot liquid, but he manages to dial a familiar number.

"Baekhyun, help."

Baekhyun finds the front door to Kyungsoo's house unlocked. There are car keys on the floor, untouched food in the kitchen, and a mess of cartoon DVDs in the living room.

He finds Kyungsoo in the latter's own bedroom, body hunched back and crying on an empty bed. 

* * *

><p>It's another morning in Kyungsoo's newfound schedule, and Kyungsoo finds it amusing how life never seems to stop for other people as he gazes down the bustling city street five storeys below. He makes a mental check of his own life. It's still paused somewhere two years ago.<p>

He picks up a magazine as he reclines on the plastic chair. He's found the chair oddly comfortable from constantly sitting on it for hours two times a week, waiting for the woman with owlish glasses that covered a third of her face to call for him. He starts scanning the magazine and pauses on a page that had Baekhyun's face on it. Baekhyun's smilling 'deviously', as Kyungsoo likes to put it. He thinks it's because the name of the company he used to co-own with the other is on the far right corner of the page. He's reminded of the bulletin he saw a week ago; it had Baekhyun's face too.

"A friend," Kyungsoo scoffs.

"Mr. Do Kyungsoo, the doctor is ready to see you. Please come in," the woman with owlish glasses says.

"So when did you start seeing him again?"

Kyungsoo plays with the hem of his shirt. He's lying on a couch which he'd always found more comfortable than the plastic chair outside. "I don't know... maybe after I ran into Luhan?"

"The hallucinations? The vivid dreams?"

Kyungsoo doesn't answer.

"You do know how Jongin died right?" the man tries again.

Kyungsoo finds the impatient drumming of the older man's pen to the desk deafening. "Yes. I was buying medicine from the pharmacy and when I came home, he was not breathing anymore—But I was able to take care of him this time. I was better this time, compared to what I did two years ago. "

"But it says in our records that Jongin died of COPD in Seoul Hospital two years ago."

Kyungsoo doesn't believe him. He sees Jongin behind him, smiling. He smiles back. He blinks, and Jongin's gone. Again. 

* * *

><p><strong>re·vi·sion<strong> _noun _\riˈviZHən\  
><em><br>_: a change or a set of changes that corrects or improves something

: a new version of something : something that has been corrected or changed


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